


holy man. | the weeping monk

by kissesfrompandora



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26644219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfrompandora/pseuds/kissesfrompandora
Summary: After fighting for his life against a woman he once knew as a child, imagery of a burning village rushed to the forefront of his mind, and the weeping monk was forced to face one of his greatest regrets.
Relationships: The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/Original Character(s), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/You
Kudos: 8





	holy man. | the weeping monk

An unloving embrace took hold of him, the cold chill of the forest settled within his body and the trees whispered their unwelcome, his bones rattled beneath a dead gaze and on his knees he stood before her, as she had once stood before him, defenseless and broken. 

“Are you so afraid?” Her voice taunted him from behind shut eyelids, whispering the words he had seethed to her ages ago, when he was just a child and she was younger than that, and he had driven a sword through the flesh and bone of her mother and set her home afire with the flames of God, and drums bellowed so loudly in his ears he was sure death would embrace him.

“Not of you, you witch.” Despite his anger, his pain and his remorse, practiced words slipped from his mouth, the prayer rolled from his lips like metal against glass and his teeth shuddered as they slipped through, “God will protect me.”

“And yet your voice wavers,” her laughter began again, withered and bruised, “You have forsaken your own people for a God in whom you barely trust!” A disbelieving scoff, he blanched from her words, thought but never spoken aloud, he reveled in the truth of it, he cradled it to him as though they were the last truthful things he would ever hear, but he did not show it. He knew the punishment of hesitance towards Him.

“I do not fear you, devil-kin.”

“Devil-kin!” She crouched before him, “What then does that make you? Are you saved, oh holy man? Are you relinquished of the grasp the devil once held you in? Hear how the trees moan their anger,” she tilted his head up, her hands as equally bloodied as his face, “behold the forest, through those weeping eyes, and hear how your past rejects you.” A gaping hole formed within the bottom-most pit of his stomach, a hole that would swallow him from the inside. He shut his eyes to the sway of the trees, and steeled his skin from the wind of the forest.

“Please…” his voice had never sounded so broken to his ears, not before the Father with is whips and hot swords, never before the guards that had beaten him when he was young, yet before this woman now, who peeled his skin from his bones and throttled his soul, he felt the forest within him again, the woods that called to him, he felt it hard and clamoring and claiming, oh how it claimed him.

She stood an arms length from him, strong arms held onto a bloodied sword, and a heaving chest hosted a broken soul, she was as lost as he was, he saw, as broken, as pained. He wished to be anyone but himself then, and he wished she was anyone but herself. In that way, in any ounce of what good may befall broken souls, they could have saved each other’s souls from what evil had been wrought into it. She inhaled deeply, and the grip on her hilt tightened, “Pray to your God then, holy man,” she raised the blade above her head, “and behold your abandonment.”


End file.
